What We Live For
by Hope's Survival
Summary: Christine is abused by her father after her mother's death. She is emotionless but is willing to give up her well being for others. When she encounters the Joker during a bank robbery, he takes interest in her lack of fear of him. JOKER/OC
1. Prologue

Hello my lovely readers, and welcome to my new story. This story just popped into my head one day with my growing obsession of the Joker. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it.

**WARNING: This story contains ABUSE and is NOT for the FAINT HEARTED. (I wrote this was angry)**

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What We Live For:

Prologue

Beaten.

Abused.

This was what it had been like for the past six years after he mother died. Her father, now a drunk, couldn't handle the sorrow. He had snapped.

First, the abuse started out small. Just yelling and name calling. Soon, it was worse. She remembered the first time he hit her. It was over something so small, something that could easily be fixed. Spilled milk and she was slapped across the face.

She was called _'stupid' _for that.

After that, it escalated out of control. Now, six years later, it was full on beatings. She didn't know why she stayed, she was nineteen after all. Maybe it was because she feared what he would become if she just left. He would hurt someone else, not her. She didn't want him to do that, so she was willing to give up herself, her freedom, wellbeing, for others.

Sure, he was a monster, but he was still her father.

What kept her sane were the memories she held dear. The ones where her family was happy.

Her father blamed her for her mother's death. He said it was her fault she was dead. She had died protecting her daughter; it wasn't either of their faults. If anyone was to be blamed, it would have been the men who attacked the two. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

She thought her life was going to be a sad story, her always living with her father. But it was not to be, for someone would come into her life to change all that. To make it more…

Chaotic.

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I hope you liked. I have the next chapter done so that will be uploaded today also.

**PLEASE REAVIEW! DON'T PRESS THAT BUTTON TO GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER WITHOUT REVIEWING!**

Until Next Time,

Akatsukigurl93

Ja Ne!


	2. Chapter 1

Thank you fro reading my prologue. I'm having a lot of fun writing this story and I hope you enjoy reading it. Don't forget to Read and Review.

**WARNING: This story contains ABUSE and is NOT for the FAINT HERTED.**

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What We Live For:

Chapter 1

"You little bitch!" Christine Taylor's father yelled as he burst into her room in a drunken rage.

Christine looked up from her book quickly. She knew what was coming. She was lying on her bed when he barged in.

"Where the hell is my alcohol?!" Her father screamed as he strode over to her. He slapped the book from her hands and grabble her arms, throwing her to the floor.

She took it unemotionally. She always did. Christine taught herself to retreat into her mind, that way she wouldn't feel as much of the pain. She laid there as he screamed at her and kicked her.

Eventually, he got bored at her unresponsiveness and stormed out of the room.

She laid there for a couple minutes, listening. Hoping he wouldn't come back. When she was sure he wasn't going to make a frightful abrupt return, Christine picked herself off the floor slowly. She limped to her bed and sat down.

'_Great, new bruises.' _She thought as she experimented poking her stomach and ribs. She winced when she touched a particular painful bruise.

She stood up and took her shirt off. She looked at herself in the body length mirror in the corner of her small room. She was covered in bruises on her arms and abdomen. Both new and old. She will have to wear long sleeve shirt again for a while. No more people asking questions and her lying, saying she was clumsy. It was a pitiful and lousy excuse anyways.

Christine's stomach grumbled, reminding her it was getting late on a Sunday evening and she hadn't eaten dinner yet. She put her shirt back on and also put on a hooded sweatshirt. She left her room and snuck down the hall, worried her father would come out of nowhere to resume attacking her.

She entered the living room that was also a kitchen and saw her dad watching TV. Empty beer cans and hard liquor bottles littered the floor and counter. She ignored then as she went over to the refrigerator. She opened it and found nothing besides more beer and vodka and some leftover dinner from last night. But she knew better than to eat the leftovers, they were her father's. Last time she ate food that wasn't meant for her, she was punched in the stomach repeatedly until she threw it all up.

She went back to her bedroom and got out her wallet to check inside it. Two dollars were in it with a small handful of change. Looked like she was going to have to go out to get something to eat as well as make a stop at a bank that was open late.

She got on her black converse and got out her pocket knife. She put it in her sweatshirt's pocket, one could never be too careful when living in the Narrows. Christine exited her room and walked back down the way she came to the living room.

"I'm going out to get food." She notified her father in a quiet voice.

He grunted in response.

Christine left the rundown apartment and pulled her hood up, hiding her hair. It was best not to look like a girl when walking through this part of town at night.

She walked out of the apartment building and toward the nearest bridge leading out of the Narrows. The streets were crowded with people and they bumped into her as she walked. She kept to herself, head down and hands in her pockets. She walked down the narrow road and crossed a bridge leading to the rest of Gotham. Here, she could be less careful, but not that much. Anywhere in this awful city was dangerous.

It was strange, six months ago, a vigilante known as the Batman made an appearance. A lot of people had different views on him. Some thought he was a hero, others thought he should be arrested. But in truth, he hadn't done anything except help the city. He fought every crime he came across, large or small. There was hope in Gotham as the crime rate dropped.

But it didn't last. Three and a half months ago, a man, known as the Joker, started making his presence known. He had started out small, just robbing banks. But that all change when he wanted the Batman to reveal himself and say who he really was. He was a monster, everyone knew that.

She pulled her hands out of her pockets.

Christine entered the Bank of Gotham and got into line to withdraw money. She took off her hood and looked around the bank.

The building was made out of stone, it had a tall ceiling. In the center, all the way against the wall were the bank tellers. Off to the side with glass walls were the bank officials and people who had authority in the bank.

"Next." The next teller available to Christine said. She was middle aged and looked relatively bored.

Christine walked up to her and offered a small smile which wasn't really returned. "Hello, I would like to with-"

She was cut off by a gunshot and an eerie, high-pitched laugh.

Everyone in the bank paused and grew pale.

Christine turned with wide eyes and saw men with clown masks on filing in. Each had a gun of some kind. There were nine of them in all; and in the center, dressed in a purple trench coat and green vest, was the Joker himself.

It was big news that the Joker had broken out of Arkham Asylum a month ago, but he hadn't made an appearance.

Until now.

A few people let out terrified screams. Christine remained calm, although she was scared out of her mind at the moment, she was curious. How did this guy frighten people so much?

Sure, the way he looked was scary, but she had only seen video clips of the Joker, not experienced him in the flesh. She examined him. His hair was wild and greasy looking. It was tinted green. His face was painted white except for the black around his eyes that were raccoon like. His lips were painted with red face paint along with his gruesome scars that went up his cheeks in a sickening, everlasting smile. His eyes, she noticed, were dark, dark brown, almost black. They looked like they were boring into her soul. A shiver ran up her spine, it was like he could see every little secret she held inside.

His eyes scanned the room slowly as a smile crept onto his face. His teeth were an awful shade of yellow, she noticed. His eyes landed on hers and they held each other's gaze in a silent challenge. For some reason, she wasn't afraid. She daringly arched an eyebrow and the Joker giggled loudly.

"Alright, uh, this is a robbery. Everyone remain _calm _and no one will ge_t _hurt." He paused and then added, "Well, some of you will most likely get hurt." He cackled and it felt like the whole room flinched at the harsh sound.

There was a pause when no one moved, but then the Joker's goons sprung into action.

"Everyone put your hands up and your heads down." One of them yelled as he and two more started to go around and make everyone sit against the far wall. Four more went down to the safe and the last two guarded the door of the bank.

Christine didn't move, she was too busy having a start down with the Joker. He was looking at her curiously, wondering why she wasn't listening to orders, and why she didn't seem to fear him.

The Joker tossed his automatic hand gun to one of his goons guarding the doors and sauntered over to the girl. Her short dark brown hair and long bangs hung in her eyes in a bob. Her eyes, a light sky blue, were emotionless as he approached.

'_Interesting.' _He thought as he put his gloved hand in his pocket and pulled out his favorite switchblade. He flicked it open with a small but noticeable _'click.'_

Still no fear as she glanced from the knife to his painted face again.

The Joker stopped directly in front of Christine.

"So tell me, Sweetheart, why so serious?" He asked as he played with the blade in his hands.

Still no reaction. No words. No movement.

'_Strange.' _He drawled inside his head. He tried again.

"You got a _name_, beautiful?"

She remained silent, which made him angry.

The Joker grabbed her head with his hand and held the knife against her lips. He pushed her so that she was in between him and the teller counter behind her so that she couldn't escape his grasp.

Christine's eyes widened as if she just noticed the Joker was right in her face.

"I don't like i_t _when people, uh, don'_t _answer me." He snarled.

"W-what was the question?" She stumbled out glancing from the switchblade to the Joker again.

"What's your name?" He repeated.

"Christine."

"You got a last name, toots?"

"Yes." She answered.

"Well are ya going to _tell _me?" The Joker hissed as he traced her bottom lip with his knife.

The first stages of fear flashed through her eyes. There, that what he was looking for. He relished in the feeling of causing fear.

"T-taylor." Christine said and he gave her a sick smile.

"Well, Christine Taylor, why didn't you follow the orders?"

"I-"

"Hey boss, the cops are outside." A goon yelled by the door.

The Joker grinded his teeth and growled slightly at being interrupted at his little game and pulled away from Christine. She rubbed her lips, trying to get the tingling sensation to go away.

"Are the vans out back?" He asked as the four clowns with big duffel bags full of money appeared.

"Yeah, boss, everything is ready." The clown replied.

The Joker took back his gun from the goon he gave it to and then casually shot the goon who had spoken to him when he was conversing with Christine. The shot killed him instantly and everyone against the wall screamed at the loud bang.

"Next time, uh, _don't _interrupt me." He said in a low, dangerous voice. "Let's go, boys."

The rest of the clowns started heading out the back of the bank as the Joker turned to Christine.

"I'll see you later, Christine Sweetheart." He licked his lips.

Christine swallowed and the Joker gave one last laugh before following his goons out the back.

Two and a half hours later, Christine trudged home after everything that went on after the police had secured the bank. The Joker had gotten away, of course. She would have gotten home earlier except she had to give a statement and the medics had to look her over since she had direct contact with the Joker. She didn't know what exactly happen between herself and that crazy clown but she knew one thing for certain.

Her father was going to kill her.

It was after 11:00 at night and it was very dangerous out, despite Batman protecting the city. This didn't mean her father cared for her; he hated her, that was a given fact about their relationship. He was worried that if she was killed and the police found her body, they would find the bruises. Then they would immediately as him questions that he was too lazy to bother with.

Christine opened the door to the apartment and tip toed her way in. She shut the door behind her silently. She crept down the hall to her bedroom. The apartment was totally quiet except for the TV in the living room. Her father was no where to be seen. That was not good.

"Dad?" She called hesitantly.

No answer.

Christine approached her father's bedroom door. As she raised her fist to gently knock the door, it was wrenched open. She gasped as she came face to face with her drunken father. His face was red and his eyes held so much anger.

"Where the hell have you been?!" He screamed as she started to back away with wide eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, Dad, the bank I went to; the Joker came and-"

"Don't you dare lie to me, you piece of shit!" He advanced toward Christine and she turned to run to her room. She didn't make a step before her father had grabbed her and slammed her against the wall. He turned her around and delivered a hard slap.

Christine's head whipped to the side. She gasped in pain and tasted blood in her mouth. Her father left her no time to recover, as he produced a brutal punch to the stomach. She doubled over and tried to draw breath that had been forced out. Her father shoved her to the floor and she crawled into her room. He followed her. He started kicked her stomach and she fell onto her side. Her hands came to wrap around her middle to provide what little protection they could even though it wasn't enough.

Christine retreated into herself again. Although she hated this, she was starting to think she deserved it. It was her, after all, who had asked her mother to go out and get ice cream that fateful night.

Her father kept kicking and hitting her, no longer caring about her unresponsiveness.

Both were unaware of the angry eyes that surrounded by black face paint, watching the gruesome scene.

Hours later, Christine could feel herself coming back to consciousness. She was stiff from lying on the floor all night. And she was in a large amount of pain. Her father had beaten her until she passed out, and probably kept going after she fell into the darkness. She struggled to open her eyes. It was like they were sewn shut. Once she did manage to open them, she was greeted with her plain, tiny room. She was currently lying against the wall opposite her bed.

She picked herself up as carefully as she could and winced when she had to bend her torso. She limped out of her room after checking the clock.

1:39 P.M.

Great, she had to work in fifty minutes. She hobbled into the bathroom and shed her clothes. She turned on the shower and turned the dial as hot as it could go. She looked in the mirror as she waited for the water to warm up.

Her eyes locked with her reflections and she noticed they had dark circles underneath them from restless sleep. Her lower lip was split open from the slap from her father. Her ribs and stomach area were purple and yellow with bruises. She was almost positive a couple of her ribs were injured.

Christine sighed but winced again when her chest expanded too far for her injuries allowed. She walked back over to the shower and got in. The hot water burned her back but she enjoyed the feeling. It made her tense muscles relax and soothed her aching pain.

She washed her hair with her cheap shampoo and conditioner since that's what her little to no income of money let her buy. She washed her body and shaved her legs and underarms. She got out of the shower and put on her underwear and bra. She wrapped her towel around herself and quickly went to her room. There, she put on her work clothes which consisted of a loose pair of black pants and a light blue polo shirt.

She combed her wet hair with her fingers and brushed her teeth back in the bathroom. She applied black eyeliner on her lower and upper eyelids in a thin line. She put on mascara and deodorant before getting her shoes and bulky sweatshirt on. She put her knife in her back pocket.

Christine exited her room and walked down the hall. She snuck past her father's room when she heard him snoring. She wrote him a quick note saying she would be back at 10:00 that night from work.

Upon exiting the apartment building, she walked down the street with her hood on and her hands in her pockets. Despite it being the middle of the day, there was always the chance of being mugged or worse. Christine walked in the opposite direction than she did last night. Her job was the other way. Working at a gas station mini-mart wasn't all that fun or exciting, but it paid well enough for her to support her and her father if she spent the money very, very carefully.

She entered the gas station mini-mart and nodded a 'Hello' to her co-worker, Andy. Although they couldn't be called friends, he was a good guy. She could tell. They didn't talk much but the silence between them was hardly ever uncomfortable.

Christine took her place behind the counter as Andy went back to stocking the shelves. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

2:28 P.M.

Another seven and a half hours until she could leave. She sighed as her first customer came to the counter.

-Seven Hours Later-

Christine was dying of boredom. It had been a very quiet day. Hardly any people came in, so she and Andy just lounged behind the counter. He was listening to music and she was lost in her thoughts.

For the first time since the bank robbery happened, she thought about the Joker. Why did he single her out and approach her? When he saw what was happening at first, she froze. She didn't know what to do. Over the years, she had taught herself to go to her 'protective place' when she was stressed or in pain and that's what she did yesterday. She was unresponsive when in the place as she was with her father.

But Christine couldn't help but feel drawn to the Joker. He had power over people that no one else had. In the span of about two simple months, the clown had taken Gotham City and made it into a chaos pit full of frightened people. He struck fear in her, fear that she hadn't felt for years. Her father no longer had that influence on her. He had lost the power over her years ago.

Christine looked at the clock.

9:58 P.M.

"Andy, would you mind closing for me? I need to get home before my dad gets angry." She asked the boy next to her.

"Sure, Chris, I'll see you tomorrow." Andy smiled using his nickname for her.

"Thank you, if you need me to cover for you sometime, I'll do it. As payment back for this." She got up to leave while getting her sweatshirt on.

"Actually, I was wondering…" He trailed off uncertain. She waited patiently for him to continue. "Would you like to go to a movie sometime?"

That caught her off guard. She hadn't had someone ask her to hang out in a long time, much less a boy. "Um, yeah, sure; that sounds like fun." Christine accepted after a minute of thinking. She could just tell her dad that she was working late. "Tomorrow's okay."

"Yeah, I'll see you at the theatre after I get out from work, Chris." Andy smiled and for the first time she thought how cute he was when he smiled.

She left the mini-mart, pulling up her hood. She felt giddy. She had a date with a cute boy.

Christine walked home quickly, grasping her knife in her pocket. A couple drunks followed her for a bit before giving up, thinking she was a guy.

She only relaxed slightly as she entered the apartment building. As she walked to her apartment door, she paused.

Something was wrong, the door was ajar.

Normally, she would have thought nothing about it, thinking her father was out buying more booze to drink. But this was different. It was quiet, deathly silent. That's too quiet.

Christine pushed the door open; it creaked as it swung on its hinges. She peered into her home. It was dark, no lights were on. Not even the TV was on. She crept into the living room/kitchen and switched on the light.

Nothing seemed out of place. It was dirty but it looked like it had when she left earlier today. That was when she saw it, a light from underneath her door. She hadn't left a light on in her room, and her door had been closed. It was cracked open now.

She walked slowly down the hall, only stepping on the areas of the floor that she knew didn't creak. She knew this walk too well after sneaking down the hall late at night, trying not to wake her father. She had to know the way.

As she walked down the hall, the stench of copper made its way to her nose.

Blood.

She knew that scent well too, after having many bloody noses in her life. But this smell was the thickest she had ever smelled in her life. She almost gagged.

Christine passed bay her father's closed door but paused, going back to it. She didn't hear any snoring. That was strange. Taking a deep breath through her mouth, she opened the door.

The light from the hall brought the room into a dim glow. The scent of the blood overwhelmed her, making her actually gag this time. She coughed, trying not to loose her stomach contents even though she hadn't eaten yet today. She managed to keep in down.

She did a quick glance over the room; nothing seemed out of place again. The bed was unmade, as always, the dresser drawers were open. There was no blood.

Where was it coming from then?

There was once more place in the room; her father's bathroom. As she stepped into the room, she paused, listening. She was sure she heard it, the slight squeak of springs. It came from her room.

She forgot the bathroom investigation and snuck over to her door. She peaked in and saw the light on her desk was on. She was sure she didn't leave it on.

Unable to see her bed from where she was standing, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Her eyes grew wide with shock and slight fear as her mouth was agape.

There, lying on her bed, purple suit and all was the Joker himself.

"There you are, Sweet Cheeks, I've been waiting _forever_" He giggled.

-End Chapter-

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I tried my best on the abuse scene with Christine and her father and I would love feed back on it.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Until Next Time,

Akatsukigurl93

Ja Ne!


	3. Chapter 2

Oh. My. God. I cannot BELIEVE it has taken me almost two years to update this! I am sososososososoooooo sorry! I want to thank all who have reviewed this story in the time I have been doing other things. I started looking back at this story again because you guys know what happens on December 4th, right? THE DARK KNIGHT RISES COME OUT ON DVD! SUPER STOKED! Who's seen it? I thought it was amazing, saw it three times in theaters and I even saw the midnight showing of it after seeing Batman Begins and the Dark knight! I was in a movie theater for over NINE HOURS seeing all three movies! It was so amazing!

Anyways, here's the next chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Batman, only Christine Taylor.

**WARNING: This story contains ABUSE and is NOT for the FAINT HEARTED.**

What We Live For:

Chapter Two

The Joker grinned as he saw Christine's eyes widen in shock. He slowly sat up from his laid back position in her bed and swung his legs over the side. Christine gulped and took a few steps back.

"Oh, Christine, where are you going?" He laughed. The Joker lunged at her and she shrieked, turning around and flying down the hall.

Christine screeched to a stop when she saw two of the Joker's clowns on either side of the front door. She turned again to find the madman leaning casually against the door frame of her room. That only left one place to go:

Her father's room.

She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. She locked it and waited. She jumped back when she heard a big bang from someone slamming into the door. On the other side the Joker giggled.

"Come out, Sweetheart, I won't hurt you much."

Christine back away from the door and crossed to the other side of the bed. Because she wasn't watching where she was going, she tripped over something soft and slightly wet. She looked down and screamed.

Her father lay there, dead, with a sick smile carved into his cheeks. Christine scrambled away from the body.

_This can't be happening. _She thought as the door burst open, swinging hard on its hinges.

The Joker stood in the door way and casted a tall shadow across the room. Christine was huddled against the wall behind her father's body. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"Why?" She stuttered out.

"Now, now, no time for questions. _We_ have to, uh, go." The Joker strode towards the small, young woman.

Christine stood up and slumped against the wall.

He now stood before her and was struck by how much taller he was compared to her. He towered over her at 6'1" and she rose to the height of 5'6". Her bob was attractive but what really caught him were her eyes, the light sky blue.

Then, he took notice of her shirt and clicked his tongue. "You made a mess." He observed and brought up a leather gloved hand and lightly touched the medium sized blood stain on the front of her polo shirt. The light blue fabric was stained with a red blotch.

Christine held her breath and didn't dare look down to her shirt. She didn't like blood, but the fact that the Joker was touching her polo was very unsettling.

Then, the Joker giggled again, making her jump. "Let's go!" He grabbed her wrist and started dragging her towards the door.

"No, I'm not going anywhere with you, you crazy clown!" She yelled boldly.

She got a reaction she wasn't expecting, she was shoved against the wall with a hand on her throat.

"I am _not_ crazy." The Joker growled. "You got that, Christine?" But he _was_ crazy.

Christine struggled to nod her head, unable to talk with the amount of pressure the Joker was applying onto her neck.

As if he was bipolar, the Joker smiled and released her.

"Come on!" He dragged her out of the room while she was still catching her breath. She pulled back, trying to get free but his grip was like iron.

"Let me go!" She yelled.

"Uh, can't do that, Sweetheart."

They were in the living room now. The front door was getting nearer so Christine did the only thing she could think of. She sat down on the floor.

The Joker turned and stared at her for a few seconds. Then, he shrugged his shoulders, leaned over, and picked Christine up. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The Joker ignored her and walked out of the apartment. Wordlessly, the goons followed. They exited the apartment building and Christine shivered. It was a cold spring night in Gotham.

The Joker stopped at the street just as a plain white van whipped around the corner of the block. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop in front of them.

Christine struggled frantically, trying to get away. The Joker held her tightly, hardly letting her move.

"Get off me, clown!"

"I'd rather not."

One of the thugs opened the side door in front of them and the Joker threw Christine in. She fell onto her side; she lifted her head to see the madman climbing in after her. She scrambled back to the other side of the large van. A guy in a clown mask sat in the driver's seat, another was sitting next to him. The two goons from the apartment building got in the back.

Christine shook in the seat she was in; she tried her best to shrink into the metal of the van to get away from the clowns.

As soon as the side door was closed, the van squealed away from the curve and shot down the street at a gut-wrenching pace. Christine clutched the seat, trying not to fly all over the back or nearer to the Joker.

When the van took a very sharp right turn, the Joker was pushed over to her. He giggled as he settled himself next to her and threw an arm over her shoulders. Christine stiffened.

"So tell me, Christine, why were you staring at me at the bank?" The Joker asked licking his lips.

She was rigid and was very unsure of how to go about answering his question without getting herself killed in the process. In truth, she didn't know why she had stared at him and that frightened her more than the Joker himself.

"I don't know." She answered.

"Come on, I know you know. Is it because I'm so handsome?" He wiggled his eyebrows and squeezed her close.

Christine struggled not to let her discomfort show on her face. "No."

"Oh, so I'm not handsome?" The Joker mock frowned, jutting out his bottom lip.

Christine worked up enough courage to glare at him, all of him, his dark eyes, his painted face, his scars…scars!

Christine knew it was a bad idea, but the words slipped out of her mouth without much effort to hold them back. "How did you get those scars?"

The Joker's teasing mood quickly snapped into a fierce rage. He glared at her as he reached into his pocket and took out the switchblade. Once again, he flicked it open with a sharp, familiar _CLICK!_

Christine glanced down to the knife with wide eyes, wondering if this was the end of her life.

"Christine, didn't your mother ever teach you not to be rude?" The clown sneered as he saw her eyes widen. He grabbed her face in a hard, cupping caress. Once again he ran the tip of is switchblade along her bottom lip like in the bank. His knife found her split lip and he applied the right amount of pressure to open it up again.

Christine hissed through her teeth, it stung.

"You want to know how I got these scars?"

She knew he wanted her to be scared, terrified, but if this is where her life ends then she would put up one heck of a show. So, she decided to play his little game.

"Only if you tell me the truth about how you got them."

That caught the Joker off guard, his eyes narrowed into slits. "You think I would _lie_ about how I got these beauties?"

"I think you make up stories to hide where you really got them from." Her voice was shaking but Christine maintained eye contact.

"Why do you think tha_t_?" He growled.

"Because I think you're too afraid to admit the truth about them."

This struck a nerve in the Joker and he shoved her against the metal wall of the van. Christine's head hit the metal with a bang.

"Do no_t _test me."

In response, Christine spat in his face. The Joker glared at her and then dug his knife point into her upper arm. She cried out and tried to move away, but the more she moved, the deeper the Joker shoved the knife.

Christine was in pain but could still think about ways to get the crazy clown off of her. They had moved from their sitting side by side position to where the Joker had one knee on the seat and a foot on the floor. Christine sat on her butt, leaning back against the metal with one leg was between the Joker's and the other next to his on the floor. She did the only thing possible in this position:

She kneed him in the crotch.

The Joker grunted and removed the knife from the girl's arm. Christine sighed in relief, the pain receding to a dull throb. But, the moment was short lived because the Joker's fist connected with her jaw.

The next thing Christine noticed was that her throat was dry, she was thirsty. She swallowed but it did little to help.

Maybe it had all been a dream, the Joker, the kidnapping. But she knew it wasn't, the pain in her jaw and arm told her that.

She fought to open her eyes. When she did, nothing greeted her, only darkness. She rolled from her side onto her back and realized she was lying on a mattress. Her hands and back felt the lumps, it was probably old.

Next thing she did was yawn. That didn't feel too good on her jaw. She brought her hand up and gingerly touched the sore part of her face. It was slightly puffy and swollen. It was then she noticed there was something around her arm where she had been stabbed. She felt it and determined it was a bandage. Who had patched her up? Did the Joker do it?

She'd worry about that later, she was so tired. Christine rolled back on her side and fell asleep again.

The next time she awoke, something was different. The lights were on, she could tell by the light shining through her eyelids and the buzzing of the light bulbs. Christine tried not to tense, but when she heard a pair of feet shuffle behind her, she couldn't help it. Her breathing became shallow. Someone was in the room with her!

The person moved around some more, sniffed, opened a door, and left. That was—

_Wait, a door?!_ She thought excitedly.

Christine shot up and looked behind her. She was immediately blinded by the light after having been in the dark for so long.

She was in a plain white room; the paint was old and there were stains on the wall. It reeked of mildew.

Where the hell was she?

The only things in the room were the mattress on the floor and a table to the right of it. Behind it, however, was a door. Her heartbeat rose in anticipation as she got up from her place on the lumpy mattress.

She checked her bandage and saw it was clean, it must have just been changed. She also wasn't wearing her light blue polo shirt that had the blood stain. It had been replaced, instead, with a plain white t-shirt. Who's was it? And who changed her?! She felt violated but quickly shook it off, there were more important things at hand, like escaping.

Her jaw ached and her arm throbbed with pain but she ignored them both. She walked up to the door silently. She started getting nervous when she saw the lock on it that would keep her trapped. She didn't have a key.

Christine placed both hands on the door knob and twisted it. Her eyes widened comically as it opened. Why would the Joker leave it unlocked?

She peered around the door and saw the hallway extended down either side of it.

Cautiously, she stepped out into the hall and closed to door behind her. Leaving it open wouldn't be any good because someone would notice she was gone. After the door was closed, she paused, listening for anything that would give her a hint to which direction she should go.

She jumped when she heard the faint cackle of the Joker to her left. Christine, not wanting another encounter with the clown, turned on her heels and ran down the hall to the right. She tried to be stealthy as possible, but with the Joker somewhere near, it was proving to be very hard.

She didn't stop at the corner, she kept running, taking more turns, and passing by more closed doors. She seemed to be in an abandoned office building because of the amount of doors and the hallways.

Christine finally came upon a door that was open. There was a TV in the room that was on. She approached it slowly, ready to bolt if someone came out. She started when she heard a man's voice from inside the room.

"Come on, Larry, turn it to something more entertaining!" There was a murmur of agreement in the room.

How many people were in there?

"Shut up, Marv, I'm listening to see if our latest work is on the news." Larry responded. "Look, here it is!"

He must have turned up the volume because Christine could hear the news anchor's voice clearly.

"_Police reports say that the _'Taylor Case' _is another one of the Joker's attacks. Why he picked Adam Taylor's home is yet to be discovered. Police recovered the body of Adam Taylor this morning. His daughter, Christine Taylor, is still missing. Neighbor, Trisha Kettleton, reported loud screaming and banging. She later says this was normal, but what made her call the police was the maniacal laugh she heard." _

Christine peeked around the corner to see a clear view of the television screen. The news anchor was a beach blonde with perfect manicured nails and make up. In the lower right corner of the screen was her own picture with the headline "MISSING" above it.

How did they get her picture?

That question didn't stick long in her head because faint shouts were heard coming from the direction she came.

It was time to move.

Hoping she wasn't about to be seen, she crept by the open door way, keeping her footsteps silent. Christine glanced into the room again. The TV was small and there were two couches facing away from the door. Four thugs sat with their backs to her.

She sighed in relief. They wouldn't see her.

Christine made her way past the door and started walking normally. She was shaking slightly from nerves. She made it to the end of the hall when she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

"And where do you think _you're _going?"

Christine froze on the spot and whipped around.

The Joker stood at the opposite end of the hall. He didn't look too happy either.

**-End Chapter-**

**I like the first chapter better than this one, but the next one should be really fun to write and read!**

**So tell me what you love, like, or hate about this chapter/story! I love feedback!**

**Quick Questionnaire!**

**What should the Joker's real name be?**

**I was going to use Jack, but that's used A LOT! I would like it, however, to start with a 'J' otherwise it wouldn't be "Joker" right? So leave your suggestions in a review or a private message!**

**REVIEW!**

**Until next time,**

**Hope's Survival**

**Cheers!**


	4. Chapter 3

Thank you, my lovely Readers, for reading, adding this story to your alert/favorite lists, and those who reviewed. You guys are amazing. I got a lot of positive feedback which I really appreciate and absolutely LOVE! I would also like to thank everyone who told me the Joker's name _was _actually Jack. I will be using his real name, Jack Napier, because now it just feels wrong to not use it.

I am looking into a middle name for him so let me know what you guys think about that. It won't be a large part of the story, just a little scene between the Joker and Christine!

Anyways, I'm going to probably be switching back and forth between updating this story and my Avengers story, _You Have to Fall to Rise_. This may or may not happen; it all depends on what I feel like writing.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Batman, only Christine Taylor.

**WARNING: This story is NOT for the FAINT HEARTED.**

What We Live For:

Chapter Three

The hallway, which just seconds before felt somewhat safe, was now the most dangerous place in the entire building. All because of one man.

The Joker stood fifteen feet away from Christine, knife out. Surprisingly, he wasn't wearing his gloves or purple trench coat. Despite the lesser amount of clothing he had on, he was still very menacing. His face paint was smeared and was in need of a touch up very badly. His hair looked as greasy as ever and his black eyes glared at Christine. This all added to her growing fear.

She held her hands clasped together across her stomach so tightly that her knuckles were white. The cold finders of fear rippled up and down her spine and arms making the hair stand up on end.

"What are we going to do abou_t _this?" The Joker growled, gesturing to Christine with his knife. He took a slow, agonizing step toward her and then another.

She responded with her own, backing away from the clown. Her breathing was becoming shorter and shallower. When Christine's back finally hit the wall behind her, her eyes dulled, her protective state of mind was calling to her.

The Joker stopped advancing, immediately noticing her eyes. He cocked his head to the side, his own narrowing until he was squinting slightly. He was intrigued.

He straightened and put his switchblade into the other hand. He smacked his lips together. "You always do this." He observed while snapping his fingers.

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

The dull eyes quickly became alert and Christine blinked, registering the noise. The overwhelming sensation of danger conquered her senses, elevating her heart beat until she could hear it in her ears. She took off down the hall, sprinting as fast as she could.

The Joker cackled as he gave chase. He enjoyed people who had a fight within them.

Christine's feet thundered on the floor as she took a sharp turn around a corner. All she could hear was the Joker laughing behind her. Her breaths were sharp, gasping intakes of air.

But she couldn't stop.

If she stopped, she was dead.

She felt the ghost of a hand try to clamp down onto her shoulder. She scrambled to push herself faster. Doors flew by and Christine didn't dare look behind her.

The giggling of the Joker behind her got further away slightly, but that didn't slow her down.

She had to find someplace to hide. Fast.

Turning another corner, she saw a single door at the end of the rather short hallway. Christine made a mad dash for it. She opened it and slammed it shut. Luckily, there was a lock on the inside of the door, which she twisted.

She backed away from the door, panting violently.

Her heart dropped to her feet when she heard slow, deliberate footsteps walking up to the door.

Christine turned around, fully intending to either find a place to hide or to find a weapon to defend herself with, but what she saw in the room made her pause.

The first thing she noticed about the room was that it was dimmed. The only light came from two lamps. Closest to her was a large desk and a chair. The desk had many papers covering it, one of which had an uncapped pen laying on it. Next to it was a knife. Christine quickly picked it up and held it to her chest. The footsteps had stopped and she could hear nothing on the other side of the door. She didn't dare leave yet.

Beyond the desk was a couch in one of the corners of the room at an angle. In front of it was a small, round coffee table. A plate with crumbs on it and a glass of what appeared to be water sat on it.

To her left was a large, cluttered table. On the wall above it, a couple knives stuck out of the wall among many holes from others.

But, what caught her attention and held it was a painting easel sitting against the wall furthest from her. Around it were many canvases, some with paint, some without. Two spotlights shined their light onto the area so that an artist could easily see what they were doing. Partially used paint tubes, drops of paint, and large and small brushes littered the floor around it. A paint palette was laid precariously on the edge of a little table and a few brushes were in a glass of murky water soaking to get clean. A worn down stool was in front of the easel, waiting to take a weary artist off of his aching feet.

Christine's eyes were wide as she looked at the painting currently on the easel. She walked over to it, the old wooden floor creaking under her feet. From what she could see, it was finished. It was of a man and a woman seated. The man's face was covered by one of the woman's arms as she cradled him against her offering him solace. Her own face was obscured by her long, flowing, sienna colored hair that cascaded around them as they both wept.

It held so much sadness.

The sound of a key fitting into the lock of the door brought Christine's tension and fear back with interest to pay. The door banged open to reveal a furious Joker. The knife glittered threateningly in his hand. Christine backed away closer to the paintings.

It was then she realized this must be one of _his _rooms. One of _his private _rooms. She licked her lips nervously.

The Joker started stalking over to her. He was going to kill her. She had to do something or else her death was inevitable.

The words came out before she knew she had thought them.

"You paint," she stated.

The Joker paused and stopped advancing towards her, his face becoming an unreadable mask. He did not answer, but he did not break eye contact either.

Christine looked back at the painting and then to the violent man again. She had his attention and had to say something else. She swallowed thickly.

"I didn't expect so much sadness in someone so angry."

Wrong thing to say.

The Joker's anger returned and he sucked on his scars. "No one, uh, _ever_ comes into this rom." He told her. "Some of the boys learned this the hard way."

Christine fought the urge to say she didn't know, but, saying something like that would not increase her chances of survival in this situation.

After an exceptionally long pause where the Joker seemed to be having an internal battle, he shifted from one foot to the other as he slipped the switchblade into his back pocket.

He approached her again, but this time, his strides were not forbidding.

He stood beside her, still looking at the painting. Then, unexpectedly gentle, he grasped one of her elbows while removing the knife from her hand.

Then the Joker threw it at the wall above the large table. It stuck out of the wall perfectly. He turned back and took her elbow again, steering her out of his private studio and back down the hall.

-Break-

The door to the private studio opened roughly as the Joker strode in. He pushed it shut behind him and stood in the middle of the room staring at the painting on the easel.

He was seething.

How the hell had that girl gotten this far? She shouldn't have even escaped from her room that held her captive. The thug that had left the door unlocked was now dead, courtesy of the madman. He couldn't trust his boys anymore with her. That meant _he _would have to do everything.

The Joker snarled and swept the dishes off the coffee table violently. They shattered and broke on the floor. His fists were still clenched together when he turned back to his sad painting.

He approached and studied it. He remembered every brushstroke it took to make the painting what it was now. He fiddled with the paint brushes in the glass of cloudy water, contemplating whether or not he was done.

Finally, after a few moments, he tore it down and leaned it up against the wall, having decided it was finished. He threw another large, empty canvas up onto the easel and squirted some red, yellow, and black paint onto his already dirty palette. Not really having a plan or even caring about what he painted, he grabbed a brush and mixed colors together.

Just as his paint brush was about to stain the canvas, he stopped as a recent memory crossed his mind: _I didn't expect so much sadness in one so angry._

She had intruded on something no one else in the world had ever seen, much less expected from him. She had not been disgusted that he painted like he had predicted someone would be…not that he actually cared what anyone thought. She had been surprised and interested. Curiosity sparked within him.

What else would Christine see in his paintings?

The Joker sucked on his scars, forcing his attention to come back to his work. Hours passed as he immersed himself in the brushstrokes, the colors, and the energy of his new art piece.

As conscious thought of important responsibilities other than the task at hand intruded, he realized three hours had passed. His painting was still far from finished. No one had come to disturb him, which meant Christine was still locked in her room.

The Joker then thought she probably was hungry and had to go to the bathroom. He didn't want another chase to happen again if she got out because one of the idiots left the door unlocked again.

He put down his palette and brush and stretched. His back and neck popped and cracked because of the intensity of his posture.

The Joker left his private study, locking the door behind him. He was off to go check on his troublesome hostage.

Time to have some fun.

-End Chapter-

**Short again, *sigh*, I apologize. I'll try to get the chapters longer.**

**So, the Joker paints, I bet you've never read anything like that! I'm really eager about what you guys think! Please tell me if you like it, love it, hate it, but be nice about it. Please? Your opinion matters to me because I write for **_**you **_**guys!**

**To me, it is hard for the Joker and Christine to have a growing friendship out of just nothing. I wanted to have something to bring them together. From the stories I've read about Joker/OC relationships, something happens, usually the clown saves the OC and she starts falling for him. I'm not saying this happens in ALL of the stories, just some that I've read. I wanted to try something new. I'm trying to make this story as unpredictable and different from any you've read but still have the Joker be the Joker.**

**As for the painting, it is based off of the artwork by Edvard Munch, more specifically, the painting called **_**Vampire**_**. I highly suggest you guys take a little bit of time and look up some of his work, it is really good.**

**So, tell me what you think about this chapter!**

**Until Next Time,**

**Hope's Survival**

**Cheers!**


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